


Come and Dance With Me, Michael

by TalesFromPerdition



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesFromPerdition/pseuds/TalesFromPerdition
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lucifer turned eighteen, he started bringing guys home. Michael's angry, but not for the right reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come and Dance With Me, Michael

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic for Anne’s (le-bontombe on tumblr)’s birthday. Last year, I promised her a fanfic, and I hope this is good enough. The title and the lyrics are from the song “Michael” by Franz Ferdinand.

 

To be honest, it all escalated rather quickly after Michael found out his younger brother was gay. Michael didn't care who Lucifer slept with – or at least, he didn't at first – but he could have come out in a better way.

Michael had just gotten home from work, and he heard the shower running. The older man was tired and wanted to crash. He walked into their shared bedroom – they couldn't afford an apartment with two bedrooms – and a man was pulling on his pants. He turned to look at Michael with a grin on his face, seemingly not caring that other man had seen his ass and bare torso. They had a similar height and build, both had dark hair and dark eyes, and the man pulled his shirt over his head.

He gave Michael another long look, licked his lips and said, "Can't say I've never wanted to have a three-way with a set of brothers before."

Michael chased him out at that, then very calmly sat down on the couch to wait for his brother to get out of the shower. When Lucifer immerged, he was dripping wet and a towel was slung haphazardly around his waist. He was dotted with hickeys, scratches, and love bites, and Michael felt an anger growing in him that wasn't exactly warranted.

Lucifer just grinned and shifted his weight so he was leaning on the other foot. "Aw, did you chase him away? I could have gone another round."

"You could have told me you had a boyfriend," Michael said, trying not to notice the water at Lucifer's collarbone as it rolled down his chest and disappeared into the towel low on his pelvis. Michael could see the V-cut muscle of his hips, the trail of hair that ran from his belly button to the cotton towel, and Michael bit his bottom lip hard, forcing his eyes back up to his brother's face. His little brother had grown up significantly in the past few months, and it was starting to worry Michael. Not the growing up bit – all little kids grew up – but the unwanted reactions Michael had to seeing to developing muscles, the broad shoulders, and the light stubble that made his brother seem far older than eighteen. "I could have made dinner or something."

"Don't have a boyfriend," Lucifer was still grinning, like he enjoyed making Michael feel uncomfortable and angry. "That was just some guy I picked up in a club. Don't even know his name."

At that Michael stood, anger flaring deep in his belly. He started with a stern, "Lucifer," but his younger brother just laughed and shut the door to their bedroom behind him.

* * *

In the next week, Michael was sexiled from his room three more times. Lucifer was just finishing up high school and insisted he couldn't get a job because he needed to focus on his school work. But Michael was going to sit his ass down and tell him if he had time to go out looking for lays, he sure as fuck had time to work.

The first of the three times, Michael had assumed Lucifer wasn't home so he walked into their room. He would never get the image of his little brother bent over the twin bed out of his mind, even if Lucifer's naked body had been mostly obstructed by the other man fucking into him like they were a pair of mutts on the street, desperate to breed. Michael was ashamed of how the image replayed itself over and over in his skull in private moments in the shower or in his dreams. The second and third time, Michael was smart enough not to walk in, but as he sat on the couch, the image of all the things Lucifer could be doing in there made him sick with anger and, though he wouldn't really admit to himself, jealousy.

Michael didn't know why Lucifer couldn't just finish up ten minutes earlier. He never had to wait long on the couch to see the men, but he saw them every time. It was like Lucifer wanted him to see.

Because he managed to see every one of the four guys, Michael couldn't help but notice his younger brother's taste in bedfellows. All four of the men Lucifer had been with had dark hair and dark eyes and were just a tad shorter than his little brother. They would ignore Michael, ignore the scowl on his face and his clenched fists, and leave the little apartment.

Lucifer would walk out of the room in a pair of jeans with nothing covering his chest, stretching and twisting and showing off his bruises to his brother. He could have been counting a wad of folded bills; he looked like a prostitute who thoroughly enjoyed his work in the moments after sex. He would grin, white teeth visible behind his parted lips, and ask Michael if he wanted to go out to the club with him next time.

Michael would deny him and storm off to the bathroom to take his shower, just to be an asshole so Lucifer would have to stew in the sweat and drying lubricant and memory of the act for just a little longer. And Michael didn't get off on the idea his brother role-playing sex as a prostitute in the privacy of the shower. Of course he didn't. The thought that his little brother liked to be used like a whore didn't get any reaction from Michael at all.

None.

Not even a little bit.

But when Michael opened the shower door – completely clothed, mind you, he wasn't like his little brother and wouldn't parade around their apartment half naked – Lucifer grinned at him from where he was laid out on the couch. His eyebrows were raised, and the look said it all. Lucifer first gave him that look when Michael lost his virginity to a girl named Naomi back when they still lived with their father. It was the  _I know_  look. Michael doubted Lucifer really did know what had taken him so long in the shower – well, he probably knew  _what_  he was doing, but there was no way he knew  _who_  he'd been thinking about – but Michael stormed into their bedroom and slammed the door behind him anyway.

* * *

Even though he didn't want to, Michael went to the club with Lucifer that Friday. He figured it was one thing for his little brother to bring men home when he was alone, but it would be another thing entirely to pick up a guy and bring him home when Michael would be the one to drive them back there.

(Secretly, Michael knew that Lucifer didn't care in the slightest that Michael was his way home. Even though car sex was only good in fantasies – the backseat of a car was too small for two grown humans to fuck comfortably – Michael knew Lucifer would ride a guy in the back seat of their shitty car, gasping and moaning, letting the guy suck and mark his neck, not giving a fuck at all that his older brother would be white-knuckling the wheel, wondering how he was going to leave the car without Lucifer noticing his erection.)

Lucifer ordered them both a drink at the bar – he looked at least twenty-three or four with the scruff – and for a moment, Michael wondered if the guys who were looking at them would think they were together. His first thought wasn't repulsion; although, he knew it should have been. Instead, Michael reached a hand out to place it on Lucifer's shoulder, to claim him and keep the other men away. His hand hovered for a moment but dropped back to his side without touching his brother.

They were together for almost fifteen minutes before a man approached them tentatively, just in case they were a couple. He wasn't Lucifer's type – blond hair, blue eyes, just a bit taller than both of the bothers – but Lucifer bit his straw around a grin, eyebrows raising, obviously flattered by the attention anyway.

Michael wanted to put his arm around Lucifer, anything to get the man to back away and leave them alone.

But Lucifer surprised him by placing his cool hand over Michael's bicep, yelling over the music to the man, "This is Michael. He's new to it. Maybe you'd like to teach him how to dance?"

The man's eyes lit up like a predatory animal thrown an easy meal, and Michael was certain he'd have felt less betrayed if Lucifer had just gone with him himself. He tried to throw a nasty glare back at his brother as the taller man took his hand and dragged him to the dance floor, but Lucifer just laughed.

For about half an hour, Michael could turn back to the bar and see his brother's gaze on him. He looked drunk; the older man couldn't exactly keep his eye on how much Lucifer had been drinking while his back was pressed up against another man's front. Michael wasn't a terribly good dancer – he didn't particularly enjoy that his brother whored him out to a guy when Michael had only ever showed interested in women before – but every so often he caught a dark smile gracing his brother's lips, and he figured he'd keep dancing just a little bit longer to please him.

Then Michael looked, and Lucifer was gone.

Michael tore away from the blond man, walking to the bar as quickly as he could. There was fear – oh shit, some serial rapist and murderer is dragging him out to his van right now – and anger – that fucking little shit left me here so he could fuck a guy back home – but what he heard when he found him was much worse.

He burst into the bathroom and knew instantly the farthest stall away was occupied. He could hear the breathless moans and desperate pleas, the occasional palm hitting against the stall or the smack of a hand to flesh. He knew it was Lucifer; somehow, he knew exactly the sounds Lucifer made when he was close to getting off. Maybe it was because they had shared a room in their dad's house throughout both of their puberties, and Michael had been a lot quieter at masturbating across the shared room than his younger brother had been.

Michael walked into the first stall and lifted up his feet so he couldn't be seen.

It was just the three of them in the bathroom – Michael, Lucifer, and whoever his brother was getting fucked by – and Michael's heart was pounding in his chest. He only had one drink, so he couldn't blame his actions on that. Maybe he was hot and bothered from the guy grinding his stiffy against his ass for the better part of fifteen minutes, but if he was honest, he knew it wasn't that either.

Even when they were teenagers, Michael got hard at the sound of his brother's whines and moans. Even the girls couldn't do that to Michael; they sounded like amateur porn girls on the internet. Lucifer was the only one.

Michael unzipped his fly and unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down enough to fist his own cock into his hands. Lucifer was close – the guy he was with must be, too, he was grunting so much he was drowning his brother's sweet gasps and whines – so Michael had catching up to do. He imagined the scene from earlier (like he said, car sex was impractical in practice but awesome for in theory), Lucifer riding a guy in the back of their car, but this time, Michael wasn't white knuckling the wheel. His hands were grasping his brother's slender hips so tightly he would leave bruises, pulling the body down as he thrust up into him.

Lucifer groaned from the far stall, his tale-tell noise of release.  _"Michael…"_

Michael came hard and suddenly, a predatory growl expelling from his throat to answer his brother's call. It was only after he calmed down, when he was assessing the mess he'd made of his black shirt, that he realized his brother wasn't calling out his name for him. Of course he wasn't. He was with some guy. Some guy named Michael.

The older man flushed, angry and embarrassed, and tried to control his breathing as he cleaned up his shirt the best he could with toilet paper.

He heard the sound of a condom hitting the water and flushing – thank God his brother was at least using protection – and the sound of the stall opening. The door to the club opened, and the music poured into the bathroom. Michael almost let out a sound of relief that he hadn't been caught, but he heard a second set of footsteps leaving the far stall and walking toward him.

Michael expected to hear the door open again, but instead, his brother's shoes stopped outside the stall he was hiding in. The older man held his breath.

Lucifer tapped his fist against Michael's stall once. "Hey, you're not going to fuck that guy now, right? Let's stop at Denny's on the way home. I'm starving."

Michael froze for a long moment; then he stood, pulling his pants up. Lucifer would hear him redressing, but it wasn't like he hadn't already been caught. "Denny's is a sit down place."

"Obviously," Lucifer grinned, (Michael could hear it in his voice). "What, just because we got off in the same room, we can't sit down at a restaurant and eat breakfast at ten at night like civilized human beings? We've both caught each other before. No big deal."

It was true. Lucifer had been thirteen the first time he caught Michael's fist moving furiously under his own blanket, trying to reach completion as silently as he could so he wouldn't wake his brother. Lucifer had been fascinated, demanded Michael pull back the sheets and  _watch_. Less than a week later, Michael had been the one to catch Lucifer at it, but at least he had the common decency to pretend he was asleep.

And once,  _once_ , they had gotten off in the same room nearly at the same time, Lucifer on his back, moaning at the ceiling, Michael facing away from him, trying his hardest not to let Lucifer know that he was doing it too, breathless with arousal at the sounds coming out of his brother. The girls didn't sound the same. Naomi, Rachel, Hester… they gave practiced sounds that they thought Michael would want to hear. Lucifer's were real, authentic. He made the noise because of his own pleasure, not for anyone else's benefit.

And to Michael, there wasn't anything more erotic than his brother's narcissism, his disregard for how anything he did to please himself could affect anybody else.

Michael opened the stall. Lucifer's eyes instantly went to the obvious spot on his shirt. His grin grew. "You know, you didn't need to jack off. That guy would have at least blown you." Michael said nothing. Lucifer knew it wasn't about that guy, Michael could tell by that stupid  _I know_  smile on his face.

"Wash your hands; I bet that stall is covered in diseases," Michael instructed. Lucifer made a show of bending over the sink, so Michael hip-checked him to the side and they washed their hands together.

Lucifer used a paper towel to pull open the door. Not that he cared about the germs or diseases, but because he knew Michael did. The older brother walked out first, but he heard Lucifer bait him as he passed: "If you'd have brought the guy with you, we could've had a foursome."

Michael ignored him; he just led his brother out of the club and to their car.

* * *

Michael had moved out of his father's house the second he graduated high school. He'd had a job for two years already and had enough stashed away for half a year's worth of rent on a small, one-bedroom across town. Unofficially, just he moved out. But there had always been two twins in the bedroom.

Their bedroom at their dad's house, which they had also shared, had been empty when their drunken father got home from the bar on the night of the ceremony (which he missed, but Michael had been never been so grateful in his life). He never came looking for them, the school never wondered why all of Lucifer's data had been updated to match the apartment, and social services never showed up to take Lucifer back to their father's. It was a win for everyone.

They had gotten along really well as kids, and Michael wondered if they would have if they hadn't needed each other to survive. Michael stood in for the beatings, even when their father came at Lucifer, Michael would insult their father so the younger boy could run to their room and hide. Michael was his brother's protector, and Lucifer was his brother's nurse, cleaning his wounds and murmuring his dreams of escape into the darkness.

"We'll get out," Lucifer had said, fingers in Michael's hair as he lay on his bed, a bag of frozen peas against his black eye. "We'll go across the country where nobody knows us. We'll live together and he'll never find us. Nobody'll ever find us."

Michael thought it was odd, then, that Lucifer had been the one to whisper promises of escape in the dark. Those should have been his lines.

Up until Lucifer brought that guy home – a week after his eighteenth birthday, two weeks before his graduation – Michael had lived by those words of escape. Before, Michael and Lucifer would talk at the kitchen table, looking at California or New York, trying to find cheap apartments close to a community school where Lucifer could go and still get a part-time job to help with rent. (They had decided on New York a month ago; Michael had already put the down-payment on an apartment there.) They had been giddy, breathless with the excitement that it was close to happening, and then Lucifer brought the guy home.

Then he brought three more guys home.

Then he let a guy fuck him in a bathroom stall while Michael jerked off to the sound of it.

Michael used to think their time in their father's house was the most fucked up time they would ever have in their lives. He couldn't believe he had been wrong.

As he opened up the front door after work, Michael expected to be sexiled yet again. He had been glaring at his computer screen all day, checking his reflection to determine what muscles he needed to flex to make the most intimidating look, but when he walked in, he realized he wouldn't need the glare.

Lucifer was in just a pair of hand-me-down jeans that hung way too low over his ass. (And Michael did mean  _just_ the pair of jeans, because as low as the pants were, Michael should have seen the elastic band of his brother's underwear, but he didn't; Lucifer wasn't wearing any). His bare back still marked with healing scratch marks from a past lover. He was shifting his hips back and forth, swaying to the music pouring out of the refurbished laptop Michael had bought him cheap for school. It was a favorite song of Lucifer's; Michael recognized the beat but had never stopped to listen to the words.

He hadn't heard Michael come in, and the older man felt like the creepiest voyeur on the planet, standing there in the doorway, watching his brother's hips – or more accurately the curve of his perfect ass – moving not unlike he was grinding back on one of his partners in the club.

(And how Michael longed to just move to his brother, wrap his arms around his waist and pull his ass flush against his crotch and let Lucifer feel him grow hard between their clothes.)

Instead, Michael shut the door loudly and called, "Hey, Luce," over the music to make it seem like he'd just got in. "No lovers today?"

Lucifer stopped dancing, but threw a grin over his shoulder at his brother. "'Lovers' makes it sounds like they mean something, Michael. They mean shit. They're just fucks; I told you that before."

Michael dropped his stuff off at the couch and walked over to his little brother at the counter. Well, he wasn't exactly his little brother anymore. Sometime in the past few months, Lucifer had grown. He was at least an inch taller that Michael now, and the older man didn't know if he still had more in him. He washed his hands to help his brother with dinner, and calmly said, "And all this time, I thought you wanted to wait until marriage."

Lucifer snorted, his pale eyes finding Michael's easily. He wasn't acting awkward, not like he should when just a couple of days ago he caught his brother masturbating in the same bathroom in a gay club that he was getting fucked in. He wasn't acting awkward, not like Michael, who could barely look at the Adonis of a man the little pipsqueak had grown into.

It should have disturbed him more, the incestuous thoughts he had about his brother. They did, at first; they still did a bit, but only because he was terrified of the damage it would do to their relationship if Lucifer ever found out. On the other hand, if there was one man on the entire planet he would give anything for, do anything for, it would be Lucifer. It didn't surprise him that Lucifer was the exception to his otherwise straight sexuality.

"I was going to wait until marriage," Lucifer said, his eyes still on Michael. "But then I realized I would never be able to get married to the person I love, so I figured what the hell? I might as well make the most of my youth."

"Why not?" Michael demanded, shutting off the water. "You can marry whoever the fuck you want. I mean, maybe not here in Detroit right now, but in other states. Or are you leaving someone behind when we move? We could stay here, Lucifer, if you want."

Lucifer was angry. Michael had said something wrong. "We're not staying here. We're leaving. I hate it here; I…"

They were silent for a long moment. Michael took the onions and peppers Lucifer had chopped and added them to the simmering pot of red sauce and hamburger chunks. The younger boy reached into the cupboard and got out a box of spaghetti. Lucifer broke the angel hair pasta in half and added it to the pot of boiling water.

"I just thought… now that you're, you know, getting along with a bunch of guys in town, you might want to stay here, is all," Michael told the refrigerator. "All I meant was that if you wanted to stay here, I would stay here with you if you wanted me to."

"I don't want to stay here. I don't fucking care about those guys, Michael. Sometimes, you're so fucking stupid I want to blow my brains out," Lucifer hissed at the boiling spaghetti.

Michael bit his lip. Their dad used to call him  _fucking stupid_  if he was in a good mood and feeling generous. If he was angry or drunk, he could get a lot more creative. Lucifer had been the smart one. Lucifer had been the one who'd go to college and make something of his life. And that was why Michael took every punch, made every excuse about the split lip or black eye to his teachers, and it was why Michael swore to always keep him safe and happy and healthy.

Because Lucifer's success was Michael's success.

"I didn't mean…" Lucifer started, but Michael cut him off.

"Yes, you did."

"You're not stupid, Michael. You just frustrate me, sometimes, because…" but Lucifer didn't continue. He just sighed.

"I am stupid; you're right."

Lucifer's fist hit the counter, but not hard enough to hurt. "You're not. And I won't abuse you. Not like…" For the first time since their argument started, Lucifer looked up. There was so much pain in his face, Michael was taken aback. Michael knew he was stupider than Lucifer – his brother was the smartest person he knew and he didn't take it as an insult – but his brother was angry and frustrated. He was upset.

Michael took a step toward Lucifer, tried to wrap his arms around him, but his brother stepped back, putting his hand on Michael's shoulder to stop him. "I'm not like dad, Michael." But it wasn't a statement. He was asking – he was begging – and Michael just smiled at him.

"I know."

This time, when Michael pushed forward, Lucifer let his brother wrap his arms around his waist. And Michael felt Lucifer's hands on his back, his arms holding him tightly. Despite his height, Lucifer tried to put his head on Michael's shoulder, to be held by him like he was as a child.

"I just want to leave here, Michael. With you."

"I know," Michael said again.

"I'm sorry about the guys. I didn't know… I don't know how to…"

"It's okay," Michael said, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he felt Lucifer's sigh of relief on his skin. He could feel the coolness of his brother's bare back against his hands, and had the situation not been so charged just a moment ago, Michael knew he would have needed to pull back or fear exposing himself to his brother.

"We'll be okay," Lucifer continued. "When we're someplace where nobody knows us."

"Mmhmm," Michael agreed, smelling the sweat on his brother's skin, knowing he needed to stop hugging him soon.

"I won't bring any more guys over," Lucifer said. "That was a stupid idea anyway. I knew it wouldn't work, but I don't know how…" But he trailed off once more, hugging Michael just a bit closer.

After a moment, Michael pulled back, offering a smile, but he wasn't exactly sure how he felt about that. Sure, he got jealous with the other guys fucking his brother – Lucifer was the only person he cared about beside himself – but the way Lucifer lounged, like a cat, half naked after those guys fucked him was worth it. The look of ease was a favorite of Michael's: the calm after a heavy snowfall when everything looked beautiful from the safety and warmth of indoors. Michael had never seen him so open and relaxed than after he just got off.

It was worth it – the guys – to see that look on his brother's face, after all they'd been through.

He always knew it was sad, probably even disgusting, but it wasn't until that moment that Michael realized how stupid he actually felt for thinking it.

* * *

True to his word, Lucifer didn't bring any guys over. Even better, he still seemed to flaunt himself and the fading lovebites and hickeys in the hot June air. He seemed to be allergic to his cotton shirts, disposing of them the second he walked in the door, and Michael noticed that the only thing he liked better than Lucifer wearing his baggy jeans was when he wore his own fitted jeans that he must have had to sew around his legs to put them on. They were that tight. Michael wasn't sure how his brother could even be comfortable in them; Michael wasn't comfortable in his baggy slacks all night because of them.

Lucifer seemed oblivious to this, and he danced around the kitchen listening to that same song with the dance beat making dinner for them, insisting Michael not help. That he had worked hard all day, and he should sit back on the couch with a beer and just relax.

Something had changed between them the night of their fight. They had gone back to the easy conversation from before his brother started bringing guys home with the added perk of the half-dressed, cocky-from-a-sex-high Lucifer.

The week before graduation flew by. Michael stood alone at Lucifer's graduation; his prayers had been answered a second time because their father didn't show up. When the portion of the ceremony where the graduates gave flowers to their parents as a thank you came about, Lucifer handed both carnations (red for the father, white for the mother) to Michael without shame. He rested his cool hand against Michael's cheek, leaned over to murmur his thanks, and pressed his lips against Michael's forehead.

Nobody said anything, even though everyone sitting around Michael knew they were brothers. They also knew about their father – it wasn't really that big of a town – and the gesture would look sweet to the outsiders.

Michael had to keep the flowers and his hands over his lap until Lucifer made it back to his seat. He was just starting to calm down when his brother stood to make his speech (he wasn't the valedictorian nor the salutatorian, but he had more charisma than anyone in the school and somehow, that meant he was begged to speak on behalf of the rest of his class). There, at the podium, he grinned right at Michael and winked.

Lucifer, Michael knew, was going to be the death of him if this didn't stop happening soon.

* * *

It was their last night in town before they left for New York, and Michael told Lucifer he would do anything he wanted. He regretted it the instant he said it – Lucifer's face could contort into the devilish look that the Grinch made and it both terrified and aroused Michael – because Lucifer licked his lips and said, "Anything?"

Michael knew he was fucked.

They went to that gay club in the city again, and Michael was praying that Jesus would take the wheel because he couldn't pay attention to the road. Lucifer was wearing the sewn-on jeans again, and a v-neck he borrowed from that Balthazar guy who had always flirted with Michael when he was over to work on a project with Lucifer. He kept taking his blazer off because it was muggy as shit, but then looking in the mirror and putting it back on. Michael was crawling to get out of the car.

"What do you think?" Lucifer finally asked as they pulled into the parking garage.

Michael turned off the car and looked at his brother's biceps. They looked better without a blazer, but he didn't want to make it easy for the other guys either. He really, really didn't want what happened last time to happen this time too. But in the end, Michael was sweating in his own t-shirt – the same black one he wore last time because he didn't really have a whole lot of clothes Lucifer would let him accompany him to a gar club in – and couldn't force his younger brother to wear a blazer.

"Without," Michael said, trying his hardest to sound like he didn't actually care. Lucifer nodded and left his blazer in the car.

"Order us something to drink," Lucifer said after their hands were stamped at the entrance. "I'll be right back."

Michael approached the bar like a kicked puppy – they hadn't been here for two minutes and already he was being abandoned – but he watched Lucifer beeline to the DJ, yell something to him over the music, then turn around and come right back. He sat down next to Michael, sipped his drink, and ignored the free drinks and advances of other men for a full hour.

In fact, Lucifer was doing tonight what Michael had wanted to do last time. He leaned against the bar so his arm was around his brother, pressed his chest close to talk, and occasionally put a hand on his knee when a guy came up to them and tried chatting one of them up.

Michael rationalized, but it still made him giddy. He had always been the type to flirt back, and he had to keep himself from doing something stupid like running his fingers over his brother's biceps or up his thigh so he kept ordering drinks instead.

He wasn't that drunk – not drunk enough to fuck the consequences and make a move on his brother – when that Lucifer loved song came on. The beat was familiar, and Lucifer stood. He grabbed Michael's hand and pulled him to the dance floor.

He was too drunk to realize this was strange, that the pair of them hadn't danced before. He was too drunk to wonder if anyone they knew could be here, and too drunk to care if they were. All he cared about was Lucifer's cool palm in his, dragging him past the sweaty bodies on the dance floor, and then, the feel of his brother's stomach against his back when the pair of them finally stopped.

Lucifer's hands were on Michael's hips, guiding him to rock back and forth. He leaned down, and Michael felt the cool puff of breath against his neck when Lucifer said, "You never fucking listen to the words. The words are important, Michael."

But it was hard to concentrate.

Lucifer's large palms were pressing against his hip bones, thumbs pushing under his t-shirt to feel the warm skin at Michael's stomach. Suddenly, Michael was sure that this wasn't happening, that this was a very vivid dream (he had had two more just like it since their last club night), and Michael was determined to bask in his subconscious for as long as he could.

His brother's cool lips pressed against his neck. He could feel the smirk against his flesh. "The words, Michael."

And this time, he paid attention.

 

" _This is where I'll be, so heavenly. So come and dance with me, Michael."_

There was more, Michael was sure there was more, but the second he heard his name – how couldn't he have heard his name in the song before? – and Michael was gone. Lucifer was pressed up against him, swaying with him, guiding him.

 

" _Come and dance with me, Michael."_

He had watched Lucifer dance before, the way the music possessed his body, his hips swaying in the loose jeans, falling down his hips until part of his ass was showing. Sometimes, Lucifer would twist his torso and throw a grin over his shoulder – knowing Michael would be watching him from the couch – and Michael might react to the summon, but never to dance.

 

" _Come and dance with me, Michael."_

And that guy in the bathroom. True, everyone's name was Michael, but nobody went by it. They were all Mikes, Mikeys, and the occasional Mickey. Michaels went by middle names, last names, nobody was a Michael. It was only him.

And as Lucifer was being fucked by that guy who looked like his older brother – they  _all_  had look like Michael – he was imagining it was him. When Michael got off hearing his brother groan out his name, it had been genuine. It had been him. They had gotten off to the idea of each other.

 

" _So close now, so close now. So come and dance with me…"_

Michael turned around in his brother's arms, and Lucifer let him. He felt Lucifer's fingers trail over his sides, push up the back of his shirt to run over the small of his back. Their dancing had slowed, but the music and other bodies still pulsated around them.

His arms wrapped around his brother's shoulders. It should have felt odd. Girls at prom wrapped arms over their men's shoulders, but it was natural with them. Lucifer's extra inch seemed like a mile, like Michael could lean across the gap and his face would perfectly align to his brother's neck. He could kiss the flesh, bite and mark it and claim it as his own.

It would never be marked by another soul again.

 

" _Michael, you're the boy with all the leather hips:  
_ _sticky hair, sticky hips, stubble on my sticky lips."_

Lucifer, of course, beat him to it. They were stopped in the middle of the dance floor. One of Lucifer's hands pressed against the small of Michael's back, keeping their bodies pressed together, while the other one cupped his brother's cheek. He didn't have stubble – the older man liked to stay clean shaven even if it made him look a lot younger than he was – but Lucifer did.

And both of their lips were sticky from the alcohol.

Lucifer dominated the kiss – setting the tempo, tiling Michael's head the way he wanted it – and the older brother was more than willing to do anything that pleased Lucifer. He enjoyed the freedom. He had always been expected to be the aggressor before, but when Lucifer bit down on his bottom lip and pulled away just slightly, Michael let out a sound he couldn't quite hold in.

 

" _Michael, you're the only one I'd ever want…"_

They had stopped kissing. Lucifer's pupils were consuming his irises. He was saying something over the music, but Michael couldn't hear him. He just nodded frantically. Anything, he had promised anything.

Lucifer's hand was in his again, and his brother was pulling him toward the door.

The parking garage wasn't far away, but it took forever to get there. Lucifer enjoyed pressing Michael's body against the brick buildings – not even in an alleyway, but out on the street where they were in full view of anyone who happened to walk or drive by on the busy city street – pinning him with his body, sucking hickeys onto his neck between murmurs of  _it took you so long_  and  _fuck, I've wanted you since I was thirteen_  and  _Michael, Michael._

The words pounded in his head, even though they were too far away from the club to hear it and even if they were, the song was long over now:  _Only one I'd ever want, only one I'd ever want, only one I'd ever want._

They repeated over and over as if they were the only words in the song.

Michael didn't even realize they were at the parking garage until Lucifer had him pinned against their car, pelvis to pelvis, hands fisted in Michael's short hair, keeping their mouths together. Before that moment, the older man didn't realize the plan was for their first time to happen in a car, but he could feel the outline of Lucifer's erection pressing against him, and knew he wouldn't ask his brother to wait the thirty minute drive out of the city and back to their apartment back in town.

He himself would never survive it either.

Lucifer's hand found the handle to the back seat, and after some maneuvering, he managed to get Michael inside.

Michael was leaning against the opposite door, hips in the middle of the seat, one foot on the floor, the other bent at the knee to try to fit himself inside the car and still leave room for his brother, and he was starting to panic. Not for the reason anyone would expect given the situation. Lucifer was framed in the door, hands over his head to pull his shirt off from behind his shoulder blades, and Michael knew they wouldn't fit in the car together. Movies and TV shows lied: two adults couldn't have sex in the back seat of a car comfortably. Two teenagers could barely fumble around without hurting each other or themselves. There wasn't enough room for any sort of thrusting – someone's back would start to hurt or someone's head would hit the roof or a door or  _something_  – but Michael's eyes watched his brother stripping off the too tight pants, and he didn't have the heart to tell him.

He wondered if Lucifer had ever tried to have sex in a car before. He wondered how he got the guys to wait the thirty minute drive back to their apartment when the two of them weren't going to be able to stand another minute without touching each other again.

"What are you waiting for?" Lucifer asked, completely naked in a parking garage. He didn't care – Michael wasn't sure if it was abundance of pride or a lack of shame – but Lucifer looked at Michael like  _he_  was the scandalous one for still being dressed. The younger man leaned in the car to undo his brother's button and unzip the jeans. Michael lifted his hips to help Lucifer pull his pants and underwear off together in one swift movement.

Lucifer didn't bother to take off Michael's shirt – they didn't have time – but he dropped the rest of their clothes to the floor of the car, climbed in, and shut the door behind him.

There wasn't enough room, but Lucifer didn't seem to care.

Michael's hips filled the seat, so Lucifer couldn't get both of his knees to straddle him properly, but Lucifer didn't care. Instead, he made do by using one knee on the seat, one foot on the floor, and one hand on the passenger's seat to hover over his brother.

There was no room for any sort of foreplay, but Lucifer didn't care. Michael was hard, and Lucifer was prepared. There was a bottle of lubricant in pocket behind the seat, and he passed it to his older brother as he reached behind himself.

The blond licked his lips, eyebrows furrowed for a moment, and then he grinned, a wild look on his face as he showed Michael the silicone object in his hands.

"Oh, Christ," Michael groaned. Lucifer raised his eyebrows again, baiting Michael, teasing him; his grin was feral. "Oh, my fucking God, you're a cockslut."

"I'm just prepared," Lucifer said, heavy with self-satisfaction. He abandoned it in favor of taking the bottle of lubricant from Michael's hands – he'd been too focused on his brother to slick himself up – and the older man hissed when the cool liquid touched his aching cock.

"You didn't even let me prepare you myself," Michael whined, but Lucifer dropped the bottle, using his hand to spread the lubricant over the shaft, and the whine turned into a moan.

"Don't have time. Need you now," Lucifer said, already positioning himself over his brother's cock. Safe sex must be for people who didn't share blood. Michael felt the opening, still wet and open from Lucifer's self-preparation, and wanted to thrust up into his brother. He'd never had sex without a condom before, either. His heart was pounding at the idea of it… that Lucifer hadn't even asked if it was okay. "Jesus, Michael. Yours was the first one I'd ever seen beside my own. I haven't stopped thinking about it since the night you let me watch you jack off."

"I should have never done that. You were just a kid."

"Fucking love you, Michael. Always wanted it to be you. Always pretended it was you."

Michael wanted to tell his brother he loved him back – Christ, more than anything did he love his brother – but Lucifer was tired of teasing his own hole with his brother's dick, and he just sank down on it. The older man wasn't sure if he was angry or amazed; Lucifer must have been thorough in his preparation to still be this relaxed, even with the plug's help. Michael wasn't even sure if he went into the girls that smoothly, no matter how wet they'd been, and Michael would have given anything to watch his brother prepare himself.

Or to open him up himself. Maybe not even get to fuck him; Michael wanted to see if he could get him off with just his fingers.

"Later," Lucifer promised, like he knew exactly what Michael had been thinking. "The things I'll do to you later."

It was cramped in the back of their car. Lucifer's torso was too long to ride him with his back straight or he'd hit his head. Not to mention they didn't fit on the seat enough for Lucifer to take any real control, even though he wanted to. His thighs were already trembling from trying, but Michael had the better angle. The older man put his hands on his brother's hips and held him there. Lucifer hadn't been happy – the idea that his brother wanted to be in charge of how he was fucked sent tremors of pleasure through Michael's body because more than anything, the older man loved being told what to do – but the unhappiness at the situation dissipated into the air when Michael started thrusting up into him.

Neither of them were going to last long, but that was the point. That was what Lucifer had wanted, and that was what Lucifer would get. Thirty minutes – the drive back home – would be long enough for them to recover for round two. That had always been his brother's plan.

"Touch yourself," Michael begged, his eyes moving from Lucifer's cock to his face. The man above him opened his eyes. Blue met brown and Michael licked his lips. He grinned, almost like a challenge, like he wouldn't do it now simply because he was asked to do it. "Touch yourself like I showed you how to… back then."

Lucifer's face broke, his eyes slid shut, and his free hand, the one that wasn't stabilizing himself by white knuckling the passenger seat still, wrapped around his cock. Michael wasn't sure if it was the touching or the suggestion paired with the memory, but it barely took anything before Lucifer's body tensed. He groaned – the same sound he made every time he came – but again, Michael's name was expelled from his lips.

And again, the sound of it pushed Michael over the edge, buried deep inside his brother.

They were still for a moment after, listening to the sound of the other breathing, but it wasn't a long moment. They were, after all, in the back of a car and it was too small to accommodate the pair of them in the position they were in. It took some adjusting, but after a moment, they were sitting side by side in the back seat. Lucifer was trying to put his clothes back on; Michael was staring down at himself.

When Michael laughed, Lucifer glared at him, but the older man just pointed to his shirt. They'd never gotten around to taking it off. And the black material of the same shirt he'd worn to the club last time was stained again, almost in the same spot. Lucifer raised an eyebrow at him.

"Last time, I came on it cause I heard you saying my name. This time, you came on it saying my name. I think I like this time better," Michael grinned stupidly at his brother.

Lucifer just rolled his eyes and said, "Get dressed. We've got to go home. It's the last chance we'll ever get to push our twins together and make a queen, and I'm not missing it."

"What do you mean our last chance?" Michael said, picking his pants up off the floor. He focused on dressing himself, just in case that meant…

"I mean, I already ordered a real queen for our apartment in New York." If Lucifer thought it sounded presumptuous, he didn't let it show. In fact, he trumped himself when he grinned and said, "Tonight's your last night ever in a twin, brother. I hope you make the most of it."

Lucifer didn't bother getting out of the car to get into the front seat. He just crawled up from the back. Michael followed a moment later – after he got his pants back on – and started the car. Michael didn't over think the comment. It didn't make him freak out or feel tied down. Instead, it was liberating. It was exciting.

Michael always feared the day Lucifer fell in love and left him. He was giddy with the thought that they would always share a room – from the moment Lucifer was brought home from the hospital until the moment they died – they would always be sleeping next to each other.

* * *

Everything they owned was packed and ready to move the next afternoon – even though they got a terribly late start to packing the car but it was okay because Michael liked shower sex a hell of a lot better than he liked car sex – but just as they were about to drive off, he noticed his brother fidgeting in the passenger's seat.

Fears raced through Michael – that Lucifer didn't want to leave, that he didn't want to share a room (let alone a bed) with Michael again – but when his younger brother looked over at him and paled, Michael knew Lucifer just wanted to ask something of him, something that he feared was overstepping, and the older brother smiled at the younger. He would do anything for him. Lucifer could never overstep when there were no bounds.

"Nobody will know we're brothers there," Lucifer said as he dug in his pocket. "So we could be lovers publically. We wouldn't need to hide, if you didn't want to."

"I don't want to hide if you'll have me publically," Michael said, putting his seatbelt on and starting the car. He waited to put it into gear; he knew the conversation wasn't over.

"But," Lucifer continued. "We have the same last name. It takes time to change that, so people might ask questions."

Michael turned to look at his brother, not sure what to make of the information. Lucifer wouldn't meet his eye, but he held out his hand, palm up. On it sat two rings with identical gold bands.

"I know we look young, but I mean, it would be legal in New York if we weren't… you know… so I don't think anyone would question it if we just told them…"

Michael took one of the rings from Lucifer's hand. The second the weight lifted, his younger brother turned to look at him. He knew Lucifer's gaze was following him as he slid the band onto his ring finger on his left hand. A moment later, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucifer sliding his band on the same finger. His brother's cheeks were pink – Lucifer never blushed – and Michael turned back to him with a soft smile on his face.

"I would be honored to be fake married to you."

"I…" Lucifer turned to look at Michael. "I told you, I realized I could never marry the person I loved, but… I thought this would be a good alternative. Pretending, you know?"

"I know," Michael said, leaning toward his brother. He was confined by the seatbelt, but Lucifer wasn't. He pushed himself the rest of the way in and they kissed, briefly, before Lucifer leaned back, put his seatbelt on, and Michael put the car in gear. "And I love you too, Lucifer."

Michael stole glances of the self-satisfied smile for quite a few miles on the highway north. It took forever to get to New York, but at least Lucifer had had the foresight to order their new bed ahead of time. It had been waiting when they got there.

They carried the stuff from the car to the foyer and unpacked the new sheets that Lucifer had bought for the queen. The rest of the junk was left to be unpacked in the morning. They had consummation to do that couldn't wait.

It was, after all, the closest thing they would ever get to a wedding night. But that was okay with Michael. Holding his brother in his arms as he fell asleep was worth it. He looked like an angel when he was asleep.


End file.
